


The Man Who Sits on the Bench

by jubilantscribbler



Series: Jaspvid Week 2020 [7]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: For a fic with character death there's not a lot of action, Hope you guys like birds, I named the Cute Waitress Clementine, M/M, angel of death - Freeform, take that as you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27346507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubilantscribbler/pseuds/jubilantscribbler
Summary: Day 7 - Free DayThere is a bench that sits alone in the park.  No one knows why it tends to sit empty, but sometimes, a person or two will occupy its seats to have a conversation.  To sit and remember.  To sit and think.  For that's what benches are for, yes?Today, someone sits on the bench.  He lets his thoughts overrun him as he counts every regret he holds with clenched fists.  But luckily, as a soft hand takes his and a gentle smile greets his sad eyes, he finds that he won't have to sit alone any longer.
Relationships: David & Max (Camp Camp), David/Jasper (Camp Camp), Jasper & Cute Waitress, Jasper & Max (Camp Camp)
Series: Jaspvid Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758160
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	The Man Who Sits on the Bench

**Author's Note:**

> finALLY GOT TO THE END!! Sorry for the long wait, I hope you guys like this last installment to the this collection!

What makes a human life, if it is nothing more than a collection of regrets? Experiences missed, chances forsaken, memories shattered, and relationships lost - to say one's lived a life worth living would suggest that all such regrets were settled, accepted, and taken as is, so long as the life nearing its end is satisfied with the ending they received. 

To say one has no regrets would be a lie. 

But to come to a state of acceptance, perhaps that's what makes a human life more than a culmination of past regrets too far gone to resolve. 

Ah, to be that lucky.

So then, what becomes of a human life, if it becomes nothing more than a collection of regrets?

What happens when all of those regrets come crashing down all at once?

...The sky is a beautiful shade of blue today.

Clouds, white and fluffy, pass by him as if mocking the heaviness in his chest, the weight of his regrets keeping him pinned down as they continue to float by without a single care.

And it all comes crashing down around him.

_ I shouldn't have said that. _

_ Why did I do that? _

_ I wish I could go back in time. _

_ I wish I said "I'm sorry". _

_ I wish I said "I love you". _

_ I wish I wish I wish I wish- _

And in that moment, a second lasts a minute, a minute an hour, and then that hour becomes nothing more than a single moment in the past that he can't take back.

He reaches his hand up towards the sky and sobs.

The sky.

It's so beautiful.

_ I wish I said "goodbye" before I left. _

And then a gentle hand grabs his.

* * *

There's a man who sits on the park bench. Every day, without fail, he sits down on that same bench, looking up at the sky with a pensive look as he waits for someone to join him.

Everyone walks past him, minding their own business as he continues to sit all alone, eyes distant with thoughts too far away for a single person to grasp in that moment.

And then.

When he blinks, he suddenly finds himself in familiar company.

A gentle smile.

Soft, green eyes that are a shade too light for his liking.

And a dress the color of precious emeralds.

"Good afternoon, Jasper!"

"Ms. Clementine." He nods to her and turns his gaze to the people walking about in front of them. Sunlight beams down brightly as the summer graces them with its last fading breaths. A gentle breeze reminds him that fall is coming as the leaves continue to fade the green from their visage.

"How are you today?"

"Not too great, to be honest."

"So about the same then?" She chuckles to herself, her Southern drawl softening her voice. "What's on your mind, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"The usual, I guess." He sighs as he leans against the bench's armrest. "...I just miss him."

"Your fiance?"

He flinches. "More like... my ex, right?"

"If that's what you make of it, then sure. Your ex."

A fight flashes in his mind. Raised voices. Clenched fists. Tears streaming down someone’s face. His face? Or David's? Perhaps both?

It was a dumb fight.

Stupid, dumb, awful fight.

What were they even fighting about? Why did it get so heated? Was it even worth all of that anger?

It feels like it's been so long. But yet, the feeling remains.

He brings his hands up to his face.

"I messed up. So bad."

"Hm." A gentle hand rubs a comforting circle into his back. "What could you do to make it better?"

"I could say sorry." He wipes his eyes uselessly. "I want to say sorry. Sorry for yelling. Sorry for getting mad. Sorry for everything. But will he even hear me? It's too late, right?"

"I'm sorry, Jasper." She smiles sadly as she keeps her hand in place. "I wish I could help you there."

"Me too." A weak laugh. "I wish I could help me too."

They both look up at the sky, the clouds weightless and free. How he envies the clouds above them.

"Do you need more time?"

"...Yeah."

But then again. He has as much time as he needs, doesn't he? He closes his eyes and feels the breeze brush past him. 

Maybe, when he opens them, he'll see their smiling faces again. Hear their laughter. 

"Why don't you tell me more about them?"

But her soft voice breaks his daydreams, and when he opens them, he sees nothing but the passing faces of unfamiliar strangers. A moment passes between them as he tries to catch sight of a familiar shade of red, a head of thick, curly black hair.

But no such people pass by this spot he sits in.

"...Do you think that'll help?"

"It might. Sometimes, people just needa get some things off their chests. Remember the important things." Clementine places her hand over his and squeezes gently. "And I'm a mighty fine listener."

"So like," Jasper gives a dry chuckle as he looks at eyes the wrong shade of green, "do you moonlight as a therapist? Is that what this is? A therapy session?"

"'Fraid not. I don't really have the credentials for that." But the smile she supplies is almost as bright as the ones David used to wear all the time. "As long as it can help you in the end, I don't mind listening to a few tales or so."

"...Why are you doing this?"

Clementine's eyes soften as wisps of her hair blow gently in the wind. "Because pullin' people up is my job, sweetheart. And I ain't aboutta leave ya to drown just yet." She turns her attention to the passing people in front of them, a distant look in her eyes as she keeps her hold on Jasper's hand. "What's the point of helpin' someone up if you don't pull them all the way up to their feet, right?"

Jasper gazes across the street and stares at a flickering pedestrian light. Idly, he thinks that David and Clementine would have gotten along quite nicely.

And quietly, the two of them watch as the light switches to red.

* * *

He cups his hands around his mouth and breathes out. White puffs of warm air blow out from his hands as he waits for a familiar weight to settle besides him. It's the chill that reminds him of piles of raked leaves, jackets dug out from the closet, and laughing boys as they chase each other to hear the crunch of the fallen leaves.

Clementine sits down quietly besides him and watches the beginning of fall with him.

For a moment, neither of them choose to speak, leaving Jasper content to just blow puffs of air as a brash voice from his memories yells with excitement, _Look, Jasp! I'm a dragon - ROAR!_

"Lovely weather, don'tcha think?"

"Yeah." He lowers his hands and looks up to the sky. It's clear and bright, but the chill refuses to be chased away by the sunlight as it begins to bite at his nose. He turns to face the woman besides him, and notices that she's changed her summer dress for something a little thicker. More suitable for the weather they're fairing. However, despite the slight change in wardrobe, he finds that the long coat she dons still shares the same hue as her summer dress.

He looks away and pretends that the green reminds him of the grass in spring.

"You look like you've got somethin' on your mind." She nudges him gently, a soft smile on her face as she gets his attention. "Mind tellin' me your woes?"

"Oh, they're not like, woes." He smiles awkwardly as he runs a hand through his hair.

"What is it then?"

"I guess..." He looks out to their surroundings and sees the familiar buildings, the bustling townsfolk who ignore the pair on the bench, and realizes that he's imagining a place quite unlike the town they live in. "I guess this kinda weather just... reminds me of stuff."

"Stuff?" Clementine hums thoughtfully before snapping her fingers. "Stuff... as in, a thing? Or stuff, as in, someone you don't wanna admit to be thinking of?"

A blush rises to his cheeks as a familiar guilt settles in his chest. 

"Ahhh." She doesn't say anything else after that.

Instead, the two of them sit in silence as Jasper lets the guilt eat him through. Memories of warm smiles in the chilling cold flash through his mind, and the words tumble out with a thought attached to them as he imagines a familiar head of red hair bouncing through the crowd before them.

"David loves the fall, even if he won't say it." 

Leaves drift down around them as people continue to rush on by to get home and away from the cold.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. When we were younger, he used to jump in piles and piles of fallen leaves. It didn't matter if they were moist or dry, or if the ground was dirt or concrete. He just loved falling into piles of them, to watch as the leaves would fall around him and cover him up. He'd laugh and laugh and laugh, and then he'd tug me down with him. And we'd lay down and pretend the leaves were snow."

He can see it as if it were just yesterday. Two boys, one a brunette and the other a ginger, laughing as they laid sprawled out on the ground.

Leaf angels. That's what David called them. When they would pretend the fall was winter, and they wanted to leave their mark on the world in any way they could.

And then they got up with leaves in their hair to admire their handiwork.

It always felt like it was just them two. And when David would point and laugh and clap his hands because the leaf angels came out looking so dumb?

God.

He's sure he had the biggest, dumbest smile on his face when he laughed with him.

And then David would reach over to pluck a leaf out of his hair, admire it, examine it, really scrutinize it, and then proclaim that this leaf, the one in his hand, the one from Jasper's head, was the best leaf because he plucked it from the best tree in front of him.

And Jasper would do the same. Pick the biggest, prettiest leaf from David, a shade of red just like David's hair, and he'd admire it, examine it, really scrutinize it, before shaking his head and proclaiming that no, _he_ found the best leaf because _he_ plucked it from the best tree in front of him.

And they'd laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

Water drips onto his hands, even though the sky looks so clear today.

"Fall was my favorite season too." Leaves the color of David's hair fall all around him. 

He holds his hand out to catch the prettiest one that floats down in front of them. 

Bright red.

Like from the bestest tree.

The bestest tree that isn't in front of him anymore.

A gentle hand takes his and squeezes it tight. He turns to Clementine, a soft smile on her face as her hair sways in the wind. Neither of them say a word as he lets that leaf go.

And the sound of childish laughter fades in the wind with the leaf.

* * *

The weight in his chest is heavier than usual. As he kicks at the fallen snow, he wonders if David and Max are keeping warm. Their little apartment - David remembers where the space heater is, right? Max never liked the cold, so they bought him a space heater for the winter since the apartment's heating system wasn't the most reliable thing.

Are they managing okay? He wishes he can visit them.

But.

Would that be right of him? After he left them like that?

It feels as though he’s tied down in this spot. He can't move from the bench, so here he sits. He kicks at the fallen snow, the sky looking cloudier than usual.

"Evenin', Jasper."

"Hi, Clem." 

"How're you feelin'?"

"Not great."

"So the usual, then." She sits down next to him, smoothing out her dress, now thick and woolen to combat the cold, but still that lovely shade of emerald green. "What's on your mind today?"

"The cold." Snowflakes begin to drift down around him as he speaks. "Max doesn't like the cold. But Davey's pretty chill with it, if you catch my drift."

She chuckles but makes no move to speak, so he continues.

"You know, I hope the kid is getting used to living here. It was a process to adopt him, just to get him in our care, y'know? But Davey fought tooth and nail for him. Max has the same kinda funky spunk that Davey had when we first met. So it made sense." 

He imagines seeing a head of curly, black hair bobbing among the masses as he hangs onto the hem of David's shirt, angry tears in his eyes. But relief was apparent in how he held himself. Like, even if he didn't want to admit it, he was glad to be around David.

That was how he first met Max.

A kid filled with so much hurt and anger and pain. A pain that was different from David's when they were kids but so goddamn similar that he had to fight the urge to bend down and hug him. But he smiled, kind and welcoming, as he helped Max unpack his little backpack filled with just enough things he deigned to call his own. Slowly, the couple would help fill up that room that Max could finally call his own with things that he could proudly say were his.

Max didn't like him at first. Hell, for a while, he didn't think he liked David either. But the thing about similar people- sometimes, not always, but sometimes, you can approach them the same way. So he would be on level with Max, crack a joke or two, and offer him a silent understanding that gave the boy room to breathe.

Just like he did with David all those years ago.

Because, despite all those layers of hurt and anger and desire to prove himself, there was a layer of something that needed to be understood. Something that desired a patience that Jasper was willing to give. And he gave and gave and gave until Max was ready to smile that small, secret smile that would show up once every blue moon. And then it'd show up every once in a while. And then every so often. Until the small, secret smiles weren't secrets anymore, and he could grin loud and proud as he kicked through piles of snow with boots David helped him pick out, and oh, the joy they both held as two similar souls found a little bit of solace with each other, an understanding, a lasting connection.

And so they found themselves a happy, little family. One where Max could feel truly loved, truly wanted. And the little space they gave him? Filled with laughs and memories and new beginnings and smiles and joy and so much healing.

They were supposed to be there for Max.

But now, that all hinges on David now, huh?

He wonders if Max hates him now. For leaving him behind. For leaving them behind.

He wouldn't blame him at all.

"I hope they're making snowmen right now. That kid deserves all the good in the world. It'd be nice to see him having fun again."

"Would that make you feel better?" Her hand lands on his shoulder with a comfort he's forgotten he's allowed to feel. "Knowing Max is okay, that David is alright, would that help you feel better?"

"...I don't know. Maybe." He turns to face her and sees only that quiet understanding and patience that he's come to expect from her. "I just. I wish there was something I could do. Something that said, I'm sorry, you know? Even if it's too little too late. I just. Want to give them something. Even if it's not enough."

Even if it can't undo what he's done.

The snow continues to fall.

But he can't feel the cold anymore.

* * *

The blossoms push through the ground with an ease he wishes he could experience. These little flowers, they get to experience something new before they wilt and die. They'll never know of the pain regret brings, or of leaving people behind, or of broken relationships and snap decisions that he wishes he could take back.

He stays seated on his bench as he stares at the flowers in the distance. The melody of a nearby street performer catches his attention and brings a faint smile to his face. David always liked idling by them, listening to the music they could produce before dropping a dollar or two and continuing on their way.

He loves music. That was why Jasper picked up the ukulele. Small and portable, he could pull it out easily and pluck out some chords and entertain David with some musical nonsense. But David loved that musical nonsense. He'd laugh and clap his hands and smile that beautiful, lovely smile that Jasper loved to see. And maybe Jasper didn't have words to accompany his music.

But he could hum. 

So he'd make a little tune, a little rhythm, and he'd hum.

And oh, David loved every minute of it.

The only downside was that he couldn't hold David as he played the ukulele. Couldn't hold him and dance with him, hips swaying to whatever nonsensical tune that Jasper could produce, foreheads pressed together as they hummed together and held each other close enough that it could be a waltz, but really it was just a simple side step back and forth, a one-two one-two to a melody produced from Jasper's love.

He wonders if David kept that mixtape he made for him when they were teenagers. It was filled with songs from their youth, songs that reminded him of David, songs that they would belt out together in the summer heat that made them feel alive in spite of the shitty world. Songs that made them feel real, feel connected, feel understood. 

He hums to himself as he kicks at the ground. There was one tune that David loved to hear when they were alone together, one that didn't need a ukulele, just Jasper's throaty hum.

He had wanted to make a song of it. Something that was more than a few seconds long, a few chords on repeat. But Jasper was never a lyricist. So he just added chord upon chord until he had something that sounded right.

Lighthearted, gentle, sweet. Something to sway their hips to. Something to hold each other to.

He meant to play that song for David on their anniversary. Maybe record it. Maybe let it play on his computer or stereo or something. Because if it was a song meant for them to dance to, then he'd need his hands free to hold his Davey close, so that he can press his forehead against his, look into those beautiful, shining, precious emerald greens that light up with joy and love with every passing minute, and together, they can forget about the world around them for a few minutes. So that they can sway and hum and feel each other's warmth.

As if they were the only two in the world.

But he never finished his song.

Just like he never said he was sorry. Or goodbye.

He buries his face in his hands and lets out a shuddering sigh. A familiar hand lands on his shoulder. It's a shame that her hand is the only one he can feel nowadays. But it makes sense.

When he laid there on the asphalt, staring straight up at the sky, his blood pooling around him as people screamed for help, he wished for the pain to stop. To not feel anything. To feel numb.

And in that moment, his wish was granted.

But it could only do so much, he found out. It doesn't stop the pain in his chest when he looks up and meets eyes a shade of green that looks just a bit off. A reminder that seeks him out everyday.

How he misses David's eyes even now.

"Heya, Jasper."

"Hey, Clem."

"Stuck in your past today?"

"No, not today." 

She takes her hand back to clasp them both together in her lap. Quietly, she hums thoughtfully as she stares up at the sky. "Almost been a year, huh?"

"Yeah."

"But I'm guessin' you're not yet ready to go, aren’t ya?"

"No, ma'am."

"Don't worry." She ruffles his hair affectionately with a soft smile. "Take all the time ya need." 

A sorry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "I don't really want all the time I need."

"Maybe a talk?"

"Isn't that all we can do?"

"If that's what you believe." Clementine turns her attention away from him and towards the crowd. "You humans are such silly creatures."

"What do you mean?" He follows her gaze out into the crowd and wonders, for once, what it is that she sees.

"Y'all think so lowly of yourselves that it's so easy to forget the amazin' feats y'all manage to pull off everyday, dead or alive." Clementine's hand reaches out to grab at nothing, at something, at everything, before pulling back and revealing to Jasper a plucked flower sitting simply in her hand. "A flower never had so much meanin' before someone came along and thought, 'Ah, perhaps, this one will be enough to represent my love.' A plucked flower can only be considered dead, until someone comes along and makes it a gift instead, or turns it into a crown, makes it into an arrangement, tucks it away in someone's hair as an accessory." She tucks the flower against Jasper's ear and giggles. "A plucked flower is a beautiful, dead thing. But sometimes, it becomes more than just a beautiful, dead thing. Sometimes, there's a meanin' to it. A symbol. A somethin'. An anythin'." Her hands settle on her lap as she closes her eyes, strands of her hair flowing freely in the still air. "It's what you make of what you have. So tell me, Jasper, what can you make of you?"

"I..." He touches the flower lightly with his fingertips and feels the softness of the petals. "I don't know."

"Hmmm." Clementine's eyes remain closed as she continues to smile. "Maybe give your memories a little bit of a ponder."

Jasper blinks. Looks up at the sky. And remembers. 

It was a clear day, just like this one. Slowly, he lets his eyes drift close, like he did on that day.

And ponders.

What can he make of him? What can he make of a dead existence that serves nothing more than a reminder of what used to be? Was his death supposed to be meaningless? Does he want it to stay meaningless?

Does he want to be meaningless?

...No, of course not. But then, what does he want to do? What can he do? 

A bird sings beside them, the welcoming chirps beckoning the arrival of spring.

...Sing. Or rather, hum. He can't sing very well but- well, he had that little tune. That tune for David. Their anniversary. A song for them.

But... it's too late, isn't it? Too late for him, too late for their song. Too late to make it up to David.

Except. As he listens to this bird, this bird that sings a song that holds a meaning only to itself, to other birds, until someone else comes along and stops to listen, and really listen to this song it sings-

Isn't it just another tuneless melody?

Until.

Someone. Or something. Puts meaning to it.

He opens his eyes and looks at the bird. It continues to sing, sweet and sure as it calls out to another to listen. Meaningless until meaning is made. Maybe... just maybe...

"I," he weakly begins, catching Clementine's eyes as she turns to look at him with that knowing look of hers. "...I, um."

"Yes?"

"I..." He scratches at his cheek, looking from the bird to Clementine and reading the patience that's etched into her very being, and knows, simply, as he relaxes, that all she's made of is kind understanding. "What if... I was a bird?"

"A bird?" She tilts her head to the side. "Why?"

"Uh. This might be stupid but, I thought- you know, maybe." He stops to take a steadying breath as he squeezes his fists against his lap. "It's just- I had this song, right? A song for Davey. For our anniversary. I never got to finish it, before I uh, got totally wasted by that car but- you said I should make the best of what I had and- maybe, maybe that's all I have left."

"Left for what?"

"Left... left to give." A death is nothing but a reminder. A stopping point. A memory that serves to put an end to more memories. 

But.

If he could take one thing of his, just one, and make it into something, anything. Anything to make them smile. He would do it.

Make meaning out of something meaningless.

"I want to give them something happy. Even if it's small. Or for a moment. I don't... want them to leave them on that sad note forever." 

And Clementine's smile brightens. "Of course." And she reaches into her pocket. And pulls out a something. An anything. And she takes Jasper's hand, and gently places it onto his palm. "I can't make living things, but sometimes, it doesn't have to be living to look alive."

A small, mechanical bird sits motionless in the palm of his hand. He closes his hand around it carefully and thinks.

He thinks he can finish that song now.

* * *

...It's been a year, David thinks. A long, painful year of realizing what it's like to lose the person who had warmed his side for so long. A long, painful year of realizing that a single, missing voice is enough to create a vast silence that he can't tackle by himself. A long, painful year of coming to terms with how sudden endings can come about, whether he wants them to or not. 

It's been a year.

Max tugs on his sleeve, frowning as he drags David out of his thoughts. "...Come on, we're here already." 

And David looks over to where they're heading. Oh, right.

To get to the park, they'll need to use the crosswalk. The very crosswalk that he...

He squeezes his eyes shut as a shuddering sigh runs through him. Even after a year, he finds himself unable to forget about the fight that started it all.

Of course Jasper would be opposed to inviting Mr. Campbell to their wedding. It didn't matter that Camp Campbell was how they met, or how David was able to meet Max, or that Mr. Campbell had changed. Jasper hated the man for personal reasons, something David had easily forgotten in pursuit of his own wants. 

It was a stupid, dumb fight. He's replayed the fight over and over again in his mind. What he said. What he should have said. How he should have kept Jasper from walking out, kept him from shouting that he needed to leave and get his chill back, kept him from crying, kept him from losing his temper, kept him kept him kept him-

Kept him in his arms before Jasper could have walked across a crosswalk too late, when the lights stopped blinking in his favor and a speeding car trying to turn a corner missed the sight of him at the last second, and all he got as an answer to Jasper's retreating form was a stranger's voice calling from his phone.

Funerals are expensive. He used to wonder if weddings would be more expensive. But between the burial’s costs and the empty side of the bed, he realized that, without a doubt, funerals were much more costly.

And now, today, after a year of empty beds and chairs at the dinner table, he promised Max that he would walk with him to the park.

"We don't have to do this." Max stands firmly where he is, eyes flicking to David and the crosswalk and back with a nervous energy. "We can just not go to the fucking park. I don't even like parks. I don't even like nature! Let's just go home and watch shitty movies or something."

"...I know you don't like this but." He looks down towards Max with a sad smile. Of course, he wasn't the only one still grieving Jasper. Maybe Max didn't know him as long as David did. But he still heard the sniffles. The little hiccups and whimpers that Max pretended weren't coming from him as he locked himself in his room. To have finally let another person into his life, only to have them dashed away because of a fight he wasn't involved in. For a while, he was sure that Max hated him for being the reason why Jasper left in the first place. "Nikki wants to play with you in the park. She can only be cooped up for so long, and I think we both know she's reaching her breaking point."

"I guess, but..." They both turn their attention to the crosswalk. "Is this really the only way to the park?"

"It's the closest for sure."

"We can always take the long way around."

"But then we'd just be avoiding the whole thing." David squeezes Max's hand. "And we can't keep avoiding it forever, no matter how much it hurts."

"Are we still talking about the same thing? Because I'm pretty sure I'm talking about the damn crosswalk."

"Of course, kiddo. Come on, we'll do this together." He plants a hand on Max's shoulder and realizes how much the short boy has grown. Thirteen years old, and he's finally hit that start of his spurt.

Though, Jasper would have still picked the boy up to spin him around for fun. Even if Max would yell and claw at him for doing so. Max stares up at him with a worried frown as David squeezes. 

One year. So much happens in one year. And yet, would Jasper have known what he missed? Of course not. David squeezes his eyes shut. He's thinking too much again.

"David..."

"You know you can call me 'dad', right?" Although, not much can change in a year either. He feels Max shrug as David breathes through his nose.

"Let's just get to the park already." Max leads the way as David opens his eyes, watching as the crosswalk signal changes from red to white. He doesn't look at the ground as his gaze focuses on the trees in front of him.

It's a short walk. Not much to think about. Not much he wants to think about. Or remember. He doesn't want to focus on how heavy his steps feel, or where he's walking, or how the crosswalk looks so completely normal, as though nothing happened here. He doesn't think about how there's a stinging at the corners of his eyes, how he needs to take deep breaths through his nose, how Max tenses up with shoulders hunched as he speeds up his pace. 

They make it across like everyone else. The crowd moves around them as David drops his hand from Max's shoulder. It's just a crosswalk. David's hand squeezes his chest as he focuses on the view of the park in front of them - how the tree branches with their newly grown leaves swaying in the wind, children laughing as they play on the open field with vibrant green grass, and he wonders and thinks and muses over how many people use this crosswalk to get to the park, walk over the spot where he was hit and left to bleed out by a driver too scared to stop, and wonders and thinks and muses over if they know they're walking over the spot he died on-

It's just a crosswalk.

He takes a deep breath and looks over at Max with a smile that barely lifts. "See, bud? We're fine!" He's fine. He has to be. His thoughts spin for a moment, repeating over and over again like a record he's forgotten he left on the turntable.

He's fine. He has to be. He's _fine_. He _has to be_. He's fine he's fine he's _fine he's fine it was just a fight he'll come back_ -

Max grabs his elbow, and the record scratches to a stop. The permanent frown on his face twitches near the corners as he sighs.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." He nods over to the path along the park. Despite his trudging steps and begrudging stare, Max pushes them onward along the park. There's no rush to his steps - he keeps his pace even, slows down even to glance back to see if David is invested in nature as he normally is.

But the path along the park isn't much of a gander. Trees don't border so much as dot the area in a uniformly sparse manner. Every once in a while, a bush comes into sight as their shoes step along the sidewalk's cement. It's the kind of nature that cities allow - one that has to satisfy him until he has enough money for a house out in the country. One that borders a forest maybe, or just far enough away from the city that David can step out and look into the night sky to lose count of all the stars he can see. That was their-

Well. It's just his dream now, isn't it?

Gwen says that grief affects everyone differently. Some grieve for a year or more. Some may grieve for a year or less. Others may grieve until the end of their life. But the feeling lasts until he's ready to move on, so she said. So what keeps him spinning in place? Unable to move forward, the same song on repeat, too hurt to change the record and needing someone else to put a stop to his thoughts for just a moment. How much longer does he have to grieve until he's ready to stop the record himself?

"David." And here comes Max again, lifting the spindle himself with that same, pained frown. He shouldn't be putting Max into this position. He's just a kid. A kid who lost a dad he barely got the chance to know. But here he is, tugging on David's elbow with that knowing look in his eyes as they come to a stop in front of an empty bench, and he points up at the branches above them for a distraction. Green leaves. They were just as green the day Jasper left too. "You uh, you know about birds, right?"

And David smiles. Because faking it until he makes it was how he managed to get through the rough patches of his life. So maybe he just has to do it again. Smile until it hurts just to smile. Smile until the pain replaces the ache in his chest and he forgets why he was trying to smile in the first place. Smile bright and the people behind the camera are none the wiser. 

"Of course I do, Max! I am part of the online bird watching society, after all."

"Like a fucking nerd."

"Now, what did we say about language?"

"That your shitty attempts at trying to censor my language border on stupid and annoying, and is useless at best?" The boy rolls his eyes as he points again with greater emphasis. "Just tell me what kinda bird that is before I lose interest."

Given the bored stare Max has directed at the bird, David already knows that Max never had any interest to begin with. But he'll keep standing here, staring at the little brown bird above them until David tells him what it is. David's not sure where Max got all this patience from, but...

A familiar laugh rings in his head.

_"Guess you've really rubbed off on the kiddo, huh?"_

Of course.

He studies the bird as he bites his lip. It's not easy, given the fact that he doesn't have his binoculars, and his vision is just a tad bit watery, but he makes out familiar white speckles on the wings, a bright, yellow beak, and a light grayish brown underside. "Oh, that's just a house wren!" The bird looks down at him with a slight tilt of its head. "They're pretty common around the States, but they have a very nice song that they sing during the nesting seasons! Although..." He frowns as he looks around the area. "Usually, they prefer areas with more trees in them. Better for nesting, I'd say." 

"Cool." Max shrugs and turns back to the path before them. "I think that's enough nature talk for me. Let's get some ice cream or some shit."

"Wait." There’s something odd about the bird. The way the sunlight seems to give it a little glint in its eyes as it studies David with its little eyes full of... birdy goodness! "I want to hear its call!"

"No."

"Please, Max?"

" _No._ "

"It'll just be for a minute!"

"Uuuuuaaaaaughhhhh." Max slowly tilts his head back as the groan continues. "Fucking- fine!" His head snaps forward as Max jabs a finger into his chest. "But only for a minute!" With that, Max flops down onto the bench as he's texting away on his phone. 

David remains where he stands as he stares up at the bird with a smile. It's just a tiny little creature, looking down at him curiously before fluttering its wings and looking over at Max. A series of chirps erupt from the wren as it begins to sing its song. The short, staccato-like notes are sweet to David's ears as it distracts him from his thoughts, but Max lets out a soft gasp before cursing as David looks over in surprise. Max fumbles with his phone as his eyes are caught in a wide, startled look when he finally catches it mid-air and jumps to his feet. He turns to look up at the bird and points at it with a yell. "What the fuck!"

"What's wrong?"

"Why does it know that song?!"

"Song?" David looks between Max and the bird as it continues to sing. He listens closely and... it just sounds like the same notes being repeated over and over again. "I mean, all birds have their own songs they sing. Or sometimes similar songs!"

"No no no, I'm not here for your nature lecture bullshit, I mean-" Max quickly pulls up an app and types in a song title, grumbling as he screws up a few times in his frantic typing. "...This!" A picture of a yellow star with eyes greets him as a fast-paced, upbeat tune plays from the phone.

David blinks slowly, the tune reminding him of when he and Jasper were younger, and Jasper was showing off the raddest game he owned. 

"Is that... Mario?"

"Ye- wait, how the hell do you know?" Max looks between him and the phone suspiciously as David shrugs with the memory biting at his heels.

"It was one of the games Jasper used to play when we were kids." The sound of childish laughter echoes in his ears as a bit of sadness melts back into his smile. He turns to stare back up at the bird as it tilts its head at him. A shuffling of feet alerts him to Max's presence, and he knows for sure that the bird has his attention as well.

"Weird that it'd know that song."

"Some birds are good mimics!" But this one isn't. The fact that it chose to sing that song is... strange at best, but he doesn't want to question it. It was probably by coincidence - the song is fast-paced, with the only variation being the occasional note changes that the bird could make with little to no difficulty. A song like that could hardly be difficult for the normally verbose songbird. 

"Still..." Max doesn't sound convinced as David looks down at his son. The boy's eyebrows are crinkled together, eyes focused on the bird as he frowns in thought. "I dunno, it's just that- you know, Jasper used to play Mario Kart with me, remember?" His green eyes flick to David, and the emotion hiding there nearly startles to David. "It's- it's fucking _weird_ , right? Like, it's weird that it knows _that_ song, and it's from Mario, and Jasper played Mario Kart with me, and he played Mario with you as kids and-" Max pauses for a moment, his eyes searching this way and that before he looks down at his hands and clenches them into tight fists. "...It's _weird_ , right?"

David wants to say that no, it's a coincidence. That no, it could just be Max thinking that's the song that he heard. That no, Max is just wishing that's what he heard, because he wants to talk about Jasper, because he still misses Jasper, because they don't talk enough about Jasper anymore and try to pretend that they're both okay when they're really not, and he wishes David would just talk to him, please, please just talk to him because they need to talk-

But instead, he closes their conversation with: "Maybe."

And that's all Max needs to look back up at David. With large, shining eyes of a hurting kid, because he's just a kid who lost a dad, and he needs his remaining dad to be there for him but. 

But as Max stares at him with those big, shining eyes, a part of him goes numb. Distant, even. 

Because he's not ready. He's not ready to talk more with Max about Jasper, about their feelings, about their hurt. David is better at repressing things, at pretending he's okay until he breaks under pressure and collapses into an emotional heap that someone needs to come and sweep up. And he swears that Max can see David pulling inside himself again. Curling back up into a ball so that the memories won't flood him again, and the broken disappointment is already settling on Max's face before the tears even fall-

The bird starts to sing again. David blinks, and turns to stare up at the bird. It continues to sing as if the notes it sings are completely harmless.

Which... they are, aren't they?

It's just a bird. 

A bird that's... singing something awfully familiar. 

It sings notes it shouldn't know to string together - what should be short, almost staccato-like rapid fire chirping comes out instead as lingering notes with pauses that form a rhythm that _he_ recognizes. Short notes that swoop up and down, sometimes even lowering in pitch as it sings a song that belongs to a tucked away ukulele.

It sings... it sings a song it shouldn't know. With every note it sings, a little bit of the past pools into the corner of his eyes. 

A smile. Blue eyes like sapphires. Brown locks soft like a familiar comfort. Hands strumming gently. Fingers plucking strings of a stickered ukulele. A voiceless thrum. Hips swaying. Foreheads pressed together. A song without words. A dance without movement. A love without end. 

A song. It was a song Jasper would pluck out for him every once in a while, always a little different, but always so much the same. " _It's not finished yet,_ " he had said with an embarrassed blush, the Jasper in his mind grinning bashfully as he held tight to his ukulele, " _but I promise it'll be done soon. A baller song for an even more baller person!_ "

But the song never got completed. At least. At least that's what he thinks.

The bird continues to sing as familiar notes float through his mind in a different sound, recognizable in how the bird sings with a light dip to its voice, notes held and blending together instead of becoming a staccato. Smooth and steady, with a gentle rhythm. There's a little tremble to the bird's singing, a tremble that can't be made with a ukulele, but instead, with a voice. It makes sense, he thinks, since the bird is _singing_ , but it feels... different. Like its voice belongs to someone else. A someone who knows exactly how this song plays, and in turn, David's own shaky voice hums along. Because he knows this rhythm. He knows what note comes next, what it sounds like in his head, how he tries to match the song with his own accompaniment because he doesn't know how to play the ukulele, but he can hum.

He can hum along to a strum of a song that neither of them can play.

It's a wordless song.

Jasper was never a lyricist, so all the songs he made were made for humming and mindless strumming. But maybe because it's wordless, because there's no need to strive for rhymes and messages when the meaning is clear in the expression, and he knows by the sound alone that the music sings of "I love you", over and over on repeat. He closes his eyes and hums along, repeating the "I love you"'s over and over again.

Soon, the bird sings notes he's never heard of. Notes he never got to hear Jasper play. A hand takes his as the song turns somber. Wistful. There's no more lilting high notes, just steady, lingering chirps that peeter out to a soft quiet before picking up again. Even the singing of the bird softens, as though the bird loses a bit of the power it once had behind its previous chirps, now releasing softer tweets that only David and Max can hear. The song ends on one sustained chirp, the tremble clearer now than it was before. He opens his eyes to see the bird staring down at him, head tilted to the side as it watches him. A gentle squeeze draws his attention, and he meets the watery eyes of Max.

"What." Max's voice cracks, making the boy frown as he takes a deep breath and tries again. "What the fuck was that?" A flutter of wings takes their attention, but by the time David looks back up to the bird, the little beauty has already flown off somewhere. Still, he smiles up at where it once was before leading Max back to the bench to sit down.

"That," he squeezes Max's hand and wipes away the boy's tears, "was a house wren."

"No but-" Max swats away David's hand half-heartedly as he uses his sleeves to wipe the rest of his tears away. "You _knew_ that song. You hummed along like it was some dumb tune you listen to in the car!" The boy hesitates for a moment, green eyes searching David's in confusion before speaking in a hushed tone, "How did you _know_ that song?"

It's David's turn to blink in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Max shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket and kicks at the ground, "I mean, yeah it took me a while but- Jasper would- sometimes, he'd just start playing this tune when you weren't home, and I'd hear it, and he'd always pat next to him and ask me how it sounded, and I would always say it sounded like hot fucking garbage but-" Max's lip trembles before he bites into it roughly, frowning as he curls forward in his seat. "But I didn't _mean_ it. It, it sounded okay, but it wasn't a fucking masterpiece. It was like, decent but. I mean he'd laugh it off but it's like, I dunno, did he actually know?" Max turns to David, his eyebrows furrowed together as he chews at his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. "Did he know?"

David blinks slowly as he wonders if Max means the song or... but the answer is simply obvious, isn't it? Gently, he ruffles Max's thick curls and drops his arm down to pull his son closer. "Of course he knew."

"You think?"

"No one knew Jasper better than I did." Even though he thinks idly, he should have known better at times. "I'm sure he knew."

The soft chatter of passersby fills the space between them as David stares at the crosswalk. He almost misses Max's words if it weren't for the fact that he's remembering how to pay attention again.

"I wish..." Max pauses as David looks down at him, watching as he bites at his lip. "I wish I called him 'dad' once." Max doesn't look at him as he kicks the sidewalk. "I dunno I mean- I feel like I should’ve."

"Well," David takes in Max's furrowed brows, his slouched appearance, and how he struggles to keep up his confident act, "I think, Jasper wouldn't have wanted to rush you into saying it."

"It's not like I didn't want to." 

"It's just that you couldn't?" Max looks away ashamed, but David simply ruffles his hair with a smile. "It's okay if you weren't ready to say it."

"Yeah but..."

"I found out, pretty late into my life, that 'dad' is just a title that people can use." David thinks back to his father who left, and the man he ended up looking up to, and how they both failed him. And how he wanted so badly to call them "dad", even though the title never rang true for either of them. "It has about as much meaning to it as you can put into it. Sometimes, we call people 'dad' when we don't mean it. And other times, we call people 'dad' when they don't deserve it. But there's plenty of people we don't call 'dad' who still feel like one." He thinks back to the kindly neighbor who helped him with his camping skills after school, and treated him with a kindness he saw only in his mother. He thinks back to Jasper's dad, and how the man's boisterous laugh always managed to cheer him up whenever he came over. "Maybe you didn't call Jasper 'dad', but that doesn't mean you didn't see him as one." He nudges Max lightly. "And did you see him as one?"

Max scoffs. "Hard not to."

"Then I'm sure you made him feel like one." Max blinks and looks up at him. "I think he already knew you saw him as a dad." David feels a familiar worry bubble up, and he almost hesitates when he asks, "...Do I feel like a dad to you?"

He expects Max to hesitate, to really consider it, but instead he just.

Looks away and nods, almost embarrassed to admit it. And then softly, he adds, "It's not like I have much to go off of, though."

But it's enough.

David tries not to cry as he takes a steadying breath. "Of course, kiddo." Quietly, he stands up and pats Max's back. "Why don't we get some ice cream?" Max nods and jumps up, already marching ahead of David as he makes a beeline towards the ice cream parlor. David spares a glance back up at the tree, to where the wren used to be. 

And he squeezes his fist before relaxing it.

All things take time. Max calling him dad will take time. David moving on will take time. And the two of them healing from Jasper's death will take time.

"David, hurry the fuck up!"

"Coming!" He turns back to his son and trots to keep up.

It'll take time before the spindle is lifted completely. 

But until then, they can both take turns bringing the record to a stop. Until they can both lift it together. And fill the void with music of their own creation.

Until then, they have all the time in the world.

* * *

Jasper cradles the mechanical bird in his hands and cries. He smiles as he watches his little family walk off into the distance and blend into the crowd. A gentle hand rests on his shoulder, giving him a moment to look her way. Clementine smiles, and her green dress reminds him of his two favorite people. 

"Did that help?" 

"It did, yeah." He tries to hand the bird back to her, but she shakes her head and keeps his hands closed over it.

"Consider it a present."

"I dunno what else I'll use it for, but thanks."

"Of course, sweetheart." She steps back and makes a motion with her arm. Jasper shields his eyes before a soft light opens before him. When the light forms a door, he looks to her and back at it. She nods towards the door. "Are you feelin' ready to go?"

"I..." He looks down at the bird, and then towards the space his family just left. They walked away looking lighter than before. David was smiling and Max- well, the kid rarely smiled, but he looked at ease at the very least. He hugs the bird to his chest, thankful for letting it lend its voice to him. "Yeah, I think so."

"Glad to hear that." Clementine offers her hand to him, and he takes it gingerly.

"Will I... do I get to watch over them? Is this like a heaven kinda biz, or..."

"It's the afterlife!" She chirps happily and opens the door for him. "I can't say I know what it's like over there but." She hums softly as Jasper hesitates at the threshold. "I've heard that some people wait, or others move on. It's up to them to decide."

Jasper looks down at the bird cupped carefully in his hands and nods. "I see."

"Whatever choice you make, I'm sure it'll be the right one."

"Yeah. Um, Clem?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks." He turns to give her a smile, watching as her gaze softens. "Thanks for... giving me all this time to think."

"Of course, Jasper." She watches as he walks through the threshold, the door closing behind him. With a little skip, Clementine hums a little tune as she continues on her path, the color of her dress turning to a light purple. As she looks down at a list in her hand, she blinks in surprise and giggles. "Oh, silly me!" She looks back to the empty bench with a content smile. "I forgot to ask him the name of his lil ol' song."

* * *

There's a man who sits on the park bench. He visits everyday without fail, always content to gaze at the passersby going about their lives. Normally, he sits by himself, as if waiting for someone to join him.

And today, that someone finally does. A young woman in a deep, blue dress smiles at him. He smiles back warmly.

"Oh, hello.”

"Afternoon, may I sit with you?" 

"Of course." 

She sits down next to him as they take in the light of the summer sun. He speaks up again, closing his eyes as the wind gently ruffles his grayed hair. Without a hint of resentment, he asks, "I take it you've come to take me away?"

"You're a bright one!" For someone who works for the dead, her voice is so full of life. "Are ya already ready to move on? Or would ya like a moment to yourself?"

"Whichever you please."

"I hope you don't mind me indulging in a bit o' conversation then." He turns to her as her eyes shine warmly. "Humans are always so full o' regrets, so I find it kinder to try an' resolve what I can before helpin' 'em move on. Is there anythin' on your mind?"

David looks down to his hand and plays with an old ring. "...Nothing I don't think you'd be able to help me with. I'm sure his spirit is long since passed."

Clementine looks to the two rings on his hand and gently covers them. "Maybe not, but I would like to know the story behind these two rings, if you don't mind?"

"Of course not." He smiles as the memories wash over him. Tapping on the older ring, he says simply, "This was given to me by my first love. He died before we could get married, but I couldn’t get myself to take it off even as I learned to fall in love again. And this one," he taps on a wedding band gently, "was given to me when I finally let myself love again. It wasn’t easy- my son, it’s not easy for him to open up to others but... Well, he was willing to try again too.” The older man gently spins the second ring as he feels just a bit younger from the memories. “And then he had another dad. They’re both still alive, and I’m worried how my son is taking my death, but I know he’ll get through it together with my husband. He… when my first fiance died, my son took it hard but. He healed from the experience. I’m just hoping my death doesn’t open up that old wound."

Gently, the woman taps the first ring. "Why did you keep this ‘til the end? Did you regret not marryin’ your old fiance?"

"...A little bit. But," he holds his ringed hand close to his chest as he remembers two smiles, so different yet so loving, that bring a familiar warmth to his chest, "I don't regret loving either of them. I just wish..." He blinks slowly, looking back up to stare at a familiar crosswalk. "It's just a little wish, but I wish my parting words to my fiance were... nicer ones." He shakes his head. "But that's already too late, and I know nothing can change the past."

"You're right." The woman stands up and offers her hand to him. "But the dead don't have to worry about that. Time is meaningless when you have no body to constrain it to. Make it meaningful until another door opens for you." She gestures with her arm, and a soft light nearly blinds his eyes. "I'm sure you can find someone to spend it with."

A familiar bird flies out of the door as a figure turns to look at him in surprise.

"...Davey?"

"Jasp?"

There once was a man who sat on the bench.

The two embrace in the light of Clementine's door, laughing through their tears as the brunette cups the ginger's face lovingly. 

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you more!"

"Then tell me everything I've missed."

"Of course I will."

There once was a man who sat on the bench.

Every day. Without fail.

But now the bench sits empty.

And empty it shall remain, until another day. Until another man.

But for now. 

There is a bench that sits empty.

**Author's Note:**

> and now to get back all those wips i gotta finish. see ya guys soon!!


End file.
